Fight Like A Girl
by Futakuchi Onna
Summary: Rukia wanders, Retsu ponders and Orihime attempts to cook by the book. Slice-of-life drabbles on the ladies of Bleach. Various pairings.
1. Feline Sensibilites

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

In Yoruichi's humble opinion, cats had the right of it in how to live your life. They never wasted movement or energy, and it seemed as if they spent all day snoozing, yet they managed to live comfortably and happily; well fed, well groomed and well rested. It was just so effortless, being a cat.

Her favourite part of it was probably what cats did on sunny days. She'd pad outside of the Urahara Shoten and sprawl in the dirt, not minding the sharp bite of little rocks into her side because they were muffled by her thick fur. She'd let the sun soak into her dark pelt, eyes narrowed but not closed, and she'd watch the comings and goings of her house mates.

Kisuke would always chuckle in his enigmatic way when he saw her like this. He'd stand nearby - never more than ten feet away, she counted, but never closer than five. And he'd lean Benihime, in her sheath, on the ground and press it into the dry earth with his weight and laugh at her. Yoruichi never minded much.

Tessai ignored her, but he didn't do it cruelly. He just left her alone, respecting her privacy and all that jazz. Occasionally he'd have to step over her, if she'd chosen to lie in the middle of the front yard and he had to bring in a delivery. His dark shadow would pass over her briefly, bringing with it the mildly spicy scent that seemed to hover around the inside of the shop, as well as the odor of whatever he was carrying - usually a sweet smell, like cookies or candy, if that's what he held, or the sharp tang of reiatsu if it was something for the Soul Society clientele.

If it was Jinta who'd found her, he'd glare and mutter and chuck the occasional small pebble that was a long way off target. Yoruichi wasn't so fond of him, but she tolerated him because he looked after Ururu.

Ururu was Yoruichi's favourite. The young girl reminded her of Soi Fong, in a way; they both had a similar deceptive tininess, and Soi Fong used to possess the mildly subservient hunch that Ururu carried herself with now. When it was Ururu who noticed her, she'd lay down her broom and walk over, dropping to her knees and not mindful of the dust, to pet Yoruichi.

Her thin hands would run in trembling rivulets down Yoruichi's pelt, and she would lean over until Yoruichi could've counted the lashes around her sad eyes. Yoruichi would roll onto her back and redirect Ururu to her stomach, and Yoruichi would receive the simple thrill of pleasure one experienced when Ururu smiled at you.

A purr would work its way up her throat, and she'd nuzzle Ururu's shin as she got up to head back to her work. Cats really could enjoy the simple things in life.


	2. Love And War

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

Rangiku did not fall in love easily. She'd been around for close to four hundred years - not all that long for a shinigami, but long enough for people to think of her as an adult. And in all that time, she'd only been in love - real, true, heartbreaking love - twice.

The first was, of course, Gin. Gin, her saviour, her smiling knight in armour, the fair-haired boy determined to escape the hellish slums and run to the white walled city, and equally determined to bring Rangiku along for the ride. Well, they made it, and they lived and learned together for years, and they were lovers for a time, too. Rangiku always loved him, just as much when he was gone, or unfaithful, as when he was there and hers alone.

And then he betrayed her, and Rangiku didn't follow him for once. Instead, she stayed with her taichou, her beloved dragon. He meant the most to her now, although she didn't love him yet. She didn't really fall out of love with him until he died at the hands of her own zanpakutou.

That was the moment, and she could pinpoint it exactly, that she fell out of love. It was the moment when she realized that he was gone forever now, with no chance of coming back, at least not as the same Gin she had loved. It was there that she had killed him, and that would always weigh on her back like so many scars of the past.

But she found she could handle it.

She found that, if her beloved dragon could bear it, bear all the burdens of his rank and his feelings and everything else, and even pick up some of the slack for her and the other members of Tenth Company, and yet still manage to stand tall, then dammit, she could too.

And it was there, with Haineko's blade dark with Gin's blood and the Winter War nearing its end, that she found she was already falling in love again - this time for the boy with the icy temperament and the heart of a dragon.

When she fell in love with Gin, it was easy, and predictable. She knew it all along, could easily foresee a future for them, and she wasn't surprised by it, ever. But when she fell for Toshiro, it was alien and sudden and incredible.

And though she never saw it coming, she loved every second of it.


	3. To Serve Hollowkind

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

The batter exploded upwards, in a spectacular, physics-defying monument to Orihime's inability to follow a recipe book. It splattered all over the kitchen, as well as the two girls in it. Tatsuki wiped cake mix out of her eyes with a sigh. "Orihime," she muttered. "Give it up. You're obviously not the kind of person meant to follow the directions." Orihime shook her head.

"No! I'm sorry, Tatsuki, but I have to learn this. I _have_ to. If I don't, I can _never_ be Kurosaki-kun's woman!" Tatsuki stared.

"Ichigo's what now?"

"His woman! If I want to be his woman, I have to be able to cook food that he likes." Orihime nodded her head firmly, as if this explained anything.

"Can't you just order takeout...?" Tatsuki wondered. Orihime tossed her head fiercely.

"It doesn't work that way, Tatsuki. You don't understand it yet, because you've never been in love, but someday you will, and then you'll want to learn how to cook too!" Orihime resolutely ignored Tatsuki's protests that she had too been in love, and instead breezed past to root around for ingredients, to rebuild her cake from scratch for the sixth time.

When they finally finished something that resembled a cake, after two more explosions and four trips to the Urahara Shoten to buy more flour and sugar, they shoved it into the oven with a sigh of relief. Orihime cranked the timer to 50 minutes and they wandered into the living room to watch television while it cooked.

Time passed, but neither girl noticed that the timer hadn't gone off. Tatsuki finally realized that it was getting dark and she should be heading home soon. She went to check on the cake and encountered the smell of burning food, an odor she'd gotten to know quite intimately over her friendship with Orihime. With a sense of foreboding and a sinking feeling in her gut, she opened the oven door.

A billowing cloud of charcoal smoke filled the room. Tatsuki ran, coughing heavily, for the door, and crashed into Orihime, who had caught the scent and rushed for the kitchen. Tatsuki charged the last two steps to the window and threw it wide before leaning out, hacking. Orihime joined her a minute later, proudly holding out a charred black lump. "Tatsuki, how do you think it turned out?" Tatsuki raised a skeptical eyebrow before poking it. Rock solid.

"I think," she said honestly, "That this thing could break a Hollow's mask, if you threw it hard enough." Orihime looked at it quizzically.

"Really? You think? Maybe I should have Chad test it out. Do you think he could throw it hard enough?" Tatsuki just sighed.

The next day at school, Orihime threw herself gleefully at Tatsuki, latching onto her arm and smiling ecstatically. "Tatsuki, you're a genius! I gave the cake to Chad and told him what you said, and guess what? It worked!" Tatsuki stared at her, as Orihime released her friend and, spotting Ichigo down the hall, skipped off to tell him the good news.

Huh. Who knew?


	4. Juliet To Yours

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

She'd never tell anyone, but Chizuru didn't really have a crush on Orihime. Sure, Hime was nice enough, but she just wasn't Chizuru's type. But she pretended she was, because it was the best way to keep suspicions down to a minimum, as well as be close to the person she actually liked.

Tatsuki Arisawa. Even her name was perfect - the 'ta' blended seamlessly into the 'tsuki', and Arisawa sounded like a contented sigh. Tatsuki was the embodiment of everything Chizuru herself had ever wanted to be - honest, strong, independent, loyal. Tatsuki stuck by her friends, she could beat up every guy in their class (except maybe Kurosaki and Sado) if the mood struck her, and she wouldn't take shit from anyone. Tatsuki was pretty damn perfect.

But she never noticed. That was the beauty of Chizuru's plan. Tatsuki was too busy defending her best friend's honor to notice that Chizuru wasn't actually looking at Orihime. She had a feeling the redhead could tell that her affections weren't authentic, but she didn't like Chizuru that way anyways, so it didn't bother her at all.

But, oh, Tatsuki, Tatsuki, Tatsuki. Tatsuki was beautiful - all long legs and crazy grins and wildly protective spirit. If Chizuru could have been born as any one person, in the whole world, she'd have been Tatsuki, just to be closer to the sporty girl's heart.

Ah, but Tatsuki would never notice. That was another trait of hers - her aggravating inability to see what was right in front of her face. She didn't see just how deeply in love with Ichigo Orihime was, she didn't see how the strange, too-fast Chinese woman always hanging around Chad could be anything less than human. (Hell, even Chizuru saw that. The girl was just _unnatural_. What was her name? Jing Jong, Foi Long, Soi Fong? Something like that.) And Tatsuki didn't see how entirely fake Chizuru was in her affection for Orihime. She didn't see how much Chizuru wanted them to be together.

But that was okay. Chizuru could content herself with being a spectator forever, if Tatsuki was the featured performance.


	5. Still Life

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

The breeze turned icy where it brushed her skin, but she payed it no heed. Soft, crystalline structures sprouted where her feet struck the earth, but they too were ignored, as were the whispers of snow dancing around her face and the tiny strands of ice forming in her hair.

Rukia walked quietly through the garden. It was a massive space, full of flowers and grasses and icicles clinging to tree branches. The soft blanket of snow over everything gave the world a muted tone - even the slightest movement seemed tremendous, and the whole garden appeared to be asleep. This was why Rukia had always enjoyed the gardens of the Kuchiki Estate, far more than she liked the mansion itself.

She reached a small stone bench and dropped down on it with a sigh. All of the politeness and decorum of the nobility - and especially her brother - were all well and good when she only had to experience them at brief intervals. Her time at the Academy had been heaven. She only had to stand them when one came to visit, which wasn't often. She'd learned society manners easily, of course, but she couldn't seem to shake the fact that she'd started out as a Rukongai street rat, with much of the same crude language and open expression Renji still possessed.

A quick survey of the garden, flicking her reiatsu out like a blanket, revealed that she was the only one there. Probably a good thing - Kuchiki nobles tended to get kind of annoyed when they got caught in her personal blizzards. She couldn't help it, though. She was a strong, yet low ranking officer, so she didn't see a lot of combat that necessitated even her shikai. And it _never_ snowed in the Seireitei. She had an ice-type zanpakuto - she and Sode no Shirayuki both lived for snow and ice and bitter cold. It was simply an integral fact of who they were.

Speaking of her zanpakuto, Sode no Shirayuki was having entirely too much fun whirling gleeful blasts of sleet towards the manor. Rukia frowned and clamped down on her. They were walking on thin ice as it was - pun not intended, but funny anyways. No one liked it when the careful tended gardens froze over. A couple of times she'd been dumped out in Rukongai for accidentally frosting favoured flowers.

She straightened up and stood, thinly shod feet not minding the cold. The garden around her, frosted as it was, still managed to fill with life, veiled flowers shining bright with colour below the ice. Rukia made her slow way back to the estate, Sode no Shirayuki calmed in the back of her mind.

The storm melted in their wake.


	6. Guidance And Temptation

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

The dreams bothered her endlessly. Truth be told, they scared her. Such awful dreams they were - blood-soaked earth and last-minute kisses, shaking hands and shards of bone. And the voices - one sleek as sleet, like hail falling over her face, murmuring prophecies when no one listened, and the other a cool wind, forcing her along the right path no matter how she protested.

The sleet-voice spoke more often, telling her things that made no sense and all the sense in the world at the same time. _'You will face the darkness,'_ it liked to say. _'And you will be alone.'_

But not her. She wasn't the one they spoke to. She didn't know who the words were meant for, but sometimes, in a fleeting moment, her sister would smile at her and she would hear the ice-voice, echoing in her head as if nothing more than a long-passed memory.

And the wind-voice wasn't hers either. It was clearly intended for the man she often saw in her dreams, the man with the sword shrouded in blood and the face masked in bone. It was a voice that sang only for the two of them, he because it was his destiny and she because it wasn't hers to share.

She felt the first stirrings of something, opening notes played on the strings of fate and the start of something new. She felt the ice closing in on her shoulders and hands and words. It pushed her out, bade her to leave before she corrupted a story that had been in place since the beginnings of time. A story of starcrossed lovers and a war to end all wars, of friends and betrayal and hope, ever so much hope.

This was why she left. The voices grew stronger by the day, wearing down on her resolve to protect and cherish forever. This was why she'd left her sister behind that day, because she'd already been shown how things must play out. She'd already been shown that she must ignore her own heart, and allow her sister's to be filled with grief and love and life. The road ahead was not an easy one, but even as her hands itched to reach out and caress her sister's shoulders, nudge her in the right direction, the voices stopped her. It would only do more damage. She'd already broken enough by holding on as long as she had.

So Hisana let go.


	7. A State Of Grace

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

Unohana lowered herself to a kneeling position on the deck, Minazuki at her side and a cup of steaming tea in her hand. Her thin sleeping kimono - palest grey with a simple pattern of muted leaves resting over her shoulders, a gift from Isane - did little to keep out the chill in the air, so she wore her Captain's haori over top her steady shoulders and relaxed back. Her feet were bare.

She sipped her tea leisurely, enjoying the warmth pouring down her throat and counteracting the cold. It was nights like this that she loved the most, she decided - nights when the air around brought colour to her cheeks and a soft breeze stirred her hair, loose from it's braid and tumbled softly down her back. Nights that spoke in whispers of sitting alone, or troubled sleep in the arms of another. Nights that made her feel alive.

Her hands trembled in the slightest as she set her empty teacup down beside her, and she folded them in her lap. For once her face was completely at ease. Many outside her division believed her to be a perpetually calm figurehead, a safe haven nestled into the eye of the storm, but her officers knew better. Isane, at least, could read her like an open book - the girl was smart, and far more perceptive than she appeared, but also too diffident to act on anything she noticed. And Hanataro always seemed to know just when she needed a shoulder to lean on or an ear to listen.

It was always somewhat of a mystery to her, why her division was so adamant in their adoration. She didn't lavish them with love and friendship, like Jyuushiro would. She wasn't fun like Shunsui. She made it a point to conduct herself with a certain gravitas, a certain decorum. She maintained boundaries and was rarely affectionate - not unkind, but distant. And yet her squad had proven, time and time again, that they would easily got to the ends of the earth and back for her, without a second thought.

A familiar reiatsu shimmered briefly, and she recognized the distinctly halting thumps of Isane's nervous gait. Her lieutenant sat beside her unbidden, and Unohana read in the gesture both a feeling of anxiety and the comfort of infinite loyalty.

"...Taicho?" Isane's voice wavered. "Are... are you okay?" Unohana slanted her head to look into a soft face, plump lips pulled in with concern and grey hair mussed from attempted sleep.

"Yes, Isane. I am fine." Isane glanced at her sideways, jaw clenched.

"You don't look very fine... sorry. That was rude." Unohana lay a gentle hand on Isane's, and her lieutenant immediately grasped it like a lifeline, threading their fingers together. She looked down at their conjoined hands, worrying her lower lip between pearly teeth. "Is this... is this okay?" Unohana smiled at her.

"Yes. It's alright, Isane. It's okay."


End file.
